So. Musical influences on my work. Frank Zappa? Randy Newman? Joni Mitchell? These are the names that arise in the comments on Nicelle's review of Crimes.

I feel, then, honor-bound to expand.

Chapter 1. The Early Years.

When I was a toddler, I sang the Music Man song "You Are My Lucky Star" into a tape-recorder. I'm told I had perfect pitch and pronounced all the words correctly and it was the cutest thing ever. The tape was then sent to my uncle in Vietnam. He was killed in 1968 when his barracks were bombed. Presumably the tape was bombed as well, unless he'd already shed it. Do jungle soldiers like to carry around tapes of baby nieces singing love songs? I will never know for sure.

I started playing classical violin at age 6. Early influences were Tchaikovsky and the jukebox at the Lake Forest swimming pool in Scottdale, Pennsylvania. For a dime my sister and I could listen to both "Afternoon Delight" and that crappy Wings song "I Love You." One of our favorite activities was to ride in the back of a pickup over bumpy mountain roads and scream K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way, Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh" at the top of our lungs while the wind blew our hair into knots. We also listened to 8-tracks of Charlie Rich. (My grandfather thought "Behind Closed Doors" was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.) Back home in Rhode Island, I went for Beethoven at top volume; also, the soundtrack to "Fiddler on the Roof" and the Carpenters' greatest hits. For a long time I thought the Carpenters had written "Ticket to Ride." I'm sorry to have to reveal that kind of information, but I'm trying to be honest, even if you think less of me now.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment, "Chapter 2. The Boyfriend Years," which reveals why I stopped practicing the violin and began falling in love with men who listened to Black Flag.